Food shortages

I have this recurring dream, well nightmare really, that the world has been hit by a zombie apocalypse. Few humans remain and those that do live under the radar of the predatory flesh eaters.

In my dreams I am pursued by hordes of these repulsive creatures, shambling towards me like a never-ending tidal wave of rotten flesh. Vacant eyes stare as they are propelled by just a primeval instinct to feed.

And how they feed – ripping into limbs, gorging without taste, smell, or indeed any other sensory pleasure. It’s pure savagery, like the proverbial fox among the chickens.

As creatures from horror go, they lack and little need any form of sophistication, intelligence or cunning. It’s all about the power of the pack, a very large and greedy pack. There’s no thrill in the chase, no sense of victory when you capture your quarry. It’s just mindless feeding for seemingly no purpose, after all it’s never really explained why the zombie must eat flesh. Will they all die when they run out of living creatures to provide their three meals a day?  Is it just an unnecessary compulsion? What's the point of zombies anyway?

And then there’s the issue of them destroying what few humans remain on the planet - that’s where I have a real issue. You see, I'm not particularly concerned about being eaten by the vile creatures myself… it’s more that I worry about what they’re doing to my food supply....

;)

Seriously, nobody ever thinks about how the poor vampires will manage during a zombie apocalypse do they?

[For the uninitiated, this devilishly handsome fellow above is the rather delicious Damon Salvatore. Mean n moody, but ever-so-sexy blood sucker from the Vampire Diaries. Obviously he shouldn't be confused with flesh-eating rotting Doris at the top of the page. She lurched her way out of my imagination and dragged herself onto the page dripping pus... nice....].


Vanessa, from A Fanciful Twist is having a Halloween Party. I like to pen a few words of fiction on these occasions. This is a little on the short side this year, but what it lacks in substance I hope it makes up for in drool-ability. And, if you have any zombie nightmares, here's hoping Damon Salvatore will be on hand to rescue you!

Knock Knock

Margie heard the doorbell ringing for what seemed like the 50th time that evening. She struggled to her feet, bones and muscles protesting and headed out into the hallway to laboriously undo the bolts and locks to her heavy oak front door. She didn't flinch though when greeted by a tiny Frankenstein's monster and a putrid zombie, just handed over a bag of sweets then shuffled back to the TV to watch Ian argue with Phil on Eastenders while they too were interrupted by trick or treaters. She couldn't understand the sudden interest and commercialism of Halloween. Wandering around in the dark dressed as a freak and begging for treats seemed morally wrong. Last year she'd forgotten to buy the requisite packets of candy and had to spend the following morning washing dried egg off her windows - it had got all stuck around the leading and the effort quite wore her out. Why couldn't the kids go around offering to treat old ladies instead? That would certainly be more community-spirited than feeding the coffers of retailers and dentists.

Margie chuckled to herself. She was becoming a grumpy old woman and that would never do! She'd reached her 90s without complaint and intended to stay cheerful til she met her maker. Margie felt lucky; unlike many of her friends, she was able enough to stay in the house that she and generations before her had made home - even if she needed a bit of help here and there and the poor old building was getting a bit crumbly around the edges. They suited each other just fine - a couple of dowagers growing older together. So, thanking her blessings, she resolved to inject a bit more fun into her next door-opening and treat giving.

But, it was getting late. The Eastenders' closing credits has been and gone and and as a blanket of tiredness wrapped around her, she found herself dozing off to the soft spoken Welsh lilt of the newsreader and the gentle creaking of the old house as it settled down for the night.

KNOCK KNOCK

Margie was startled from her slumber and was on her feet heading to the door before she realised it. A motley crew awaited her and she laughed out loud at the best costumes of the night - each was dressed in period garb through the ages from Elizabethan times right up to a well-heeled suffragette. They were also the oldest trick or treaters she'd ever seen with white hair reflecting back the moon. However, their eyes glinted with such a childish mischief that when they suggested Margie join them, she didn't hesitate. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to want to do!

As they floated off down the garden path together, Margie was distantly aware of a bit of a commotion going on in her front room as 'the nice lady who helps me get ready for bed' escorted ambulance crew and police in sombre fashion to her old armchair in front of the now silent television.

A ghostly tale for the Halloween Party at A Fanciful Twist. There will be many creatures of darkness running amok over there... go visit... if you dare!!

If you like my spooky stories, there's another lurking here and one more behind the cobwebs...

When the moon howls

"Hold on, man. We don't go anywhere with scary, spooky, haunted, or forbidden in the title." Shaggy, close friend of Scooby Doo.

Well said my lanky friend, well said. Perhaps I should have heeded such wise words before partaking of a hundred or more Halloween parties yesterday as I rampaged around blogland hotly pursued by ghouls, ghosts and goblins.

If you missed the party of the season at a Fanciful Twist and have a stomach for such things then do hop upon your broomstick and zoom over to follow the cobweb trails and tales... But a word of caution... do so after dark at your own risk...

It seemed perfectly natural that my Sunday sketching this week would be inspired by such gruesome imagery. This was helped along by the Illustration Friday theme 'spooky' and watching my boyfriend playing some zombie shoot 'em up game on the pc sitting next to me. It's a wonder I have managed to remain sane!

This illustration was an experiment. How can you turn a simple sketch of a girl into something far more sinister? Well, you could cast spells and rub her with newt's entrails, but I preferred the contents of my paint box. I oozed, dripped and splodged and sprayed with a ghoulish mist. Rather effective I think? She started out as quite a pretty little thing and now she looks like she's had a run in with the special effects department at Hammer House of Horror.

I always used to think that painting should be such an exact science, but now I've learnt that half the fun can be in the experimentation. When you drip ink over an eye then tilt the paper you lose control, the art makes itself and the story unfolds before you.

"Where there is no imagination, there is no horror."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Magic stirring... A Halloween Tale

Follow me my pretties through the enchanted doorway to a tale of autumnal magic...

Deep in the woods lived a creature who rarely saw the light of day. She was old and tired and had seen the moon's waxing and waning more than anyone else she knew.

They say that with age comes wisdom and many would seek her out to share the answers she had learned. Some wanted love, others the return of youth or the secrets of a magic life. She would sit with them awhile and share her secrets... but before you seek her out, remember that enchantment always comes at a price...

How can I tell you this tale? Why, I've been there myself. Shall I tell you how, where and why?

***

I woke to the strangest music that floated in through the window and danced with the dust motes. The moon's slim fingers of light were creeping through the curtains and encouraged me out of bed. Where was that music coming from? I pulled on my clothes, grabbed a light and drifted downstairs still groggy with sleep and out into the crisp October night.

As I tramped through the sodden lawn the symphony became louder. I could hear voices now too, an excited chatter mixing with the wind in the dry leaves tumbling to the ground from the trees. I fought my way through the brambles and undergrowth somewhat bemused at the quantity of pumpkins I was finding along the path.

At last I came to the gap in the trees where a winding path lay. It was a track I had never ventured down before but I am not sure why. Some reason or other always pushed me in a different direction. Today though the music and conversations called me along its enticing trail, I pulled back dead branches and flicked away strings of sticky cobwebs.

The strangest of sensations began to overwhelm me. I felt as if in the midst of a crowd yet the path was deserted. Something pulled on my skirt and I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck. I wanted to turn and run but that music... it bewitched me... I sped up but not in the direction of home.

The invisible tide carried me through the ancient forest, the trees grew thicker and blocked the moon's reassuring light, a chilled mist wound around my ankles and all the while the pull of the music drew me deeper and deeper until suddenly... it stopped.

I found myself before the strangest little door set within a steep bank and tangled with roots and vines. Whispers of voices and song urged me in and without further thought I reached up and pushed at the damp wood.

The room was dark save for the gentle illumination of candlelight and it took a while for my eyes to focus on the strikingly beautiful woman sitting in a carved chair beside a table covered with bottles, herbs, dried mosses and peculiar items the like of which I had never seen before.

"You took your time" she said rather matter of factly. I was struck dumb until she smiled kindly and motioned me to sit in the empty chair beside her before shooing would could only have been an invisible occupant out of it and then closing the door behind them.

It was all I could do to ask who she was and why she might have been expecting me. She poured me a blood red drink from one of the many bottles on the table and began her story.

"I'm the Keeper," she explained. "I hold the knowledge of the ancients from these woods, I see, hear and know. I am the bridge between the human and fae , but these days few from your world can find me or even believe in my existence."

I gulped down some of the liquid she had handed me. It was rich and fruity and not entirely unpleasant. I took another mouthful and another but soon wished I hadn't for suddenly my vision began to clear and I realised we were not alone in the room, for sitting on shelves, balancing on tables, dangling from the ceiling and leaning against walls was the most terrifying collection of creatures ranging from tiny winged things to ghostly apiritions and what could only be vampires licking their lips and lusting after my blood.

The Keeper laughed at my surprise and fear. "They come to me for advice, for wisdom, for magic...," she smiled then added. "...every year at this time.." A quick calculation of the date and shivers ran down my spine for I realised with a sudden chill that it was indeed the 31st October...

"Why am I here?" I asked, though I was beginning to believe that I most certainly wouldn't like the answer.

"Despite my looks, I am old and tired. It's time for a new Keeper. I offer you my knowledge, my eternal youth, beauty and eternity on this world. It's your destiny, a role you were born to take. In return, I take your soul and live the remainder of what would have been your life."

I shrank back in the chair in fear. Eternal youth or not, I had no wish to cast aside my human life and was rather attached to my soul. Sensing my obvious reluctance the woman stood and began to chant, joined by the singing and music that had lured me to this wretched hovel. In panic I tried to flee but stopped short when I caught sight of her reflection in the mirror which was rapidly changing from ravishing beauty to something far more sinister.

The Keeper's bony wrist reached out to grab me and fairies, goblins and hairy bats pulled at my hair and clothes. I used every ounce of strength to utter just one word "NO!" Then everything went black.

***

When I woke I was at home in bed drenched in sweat and with a raging fever. I dragged myself to the sink and drank a cooling glass of water. As I stared at myself in the mirror I saw no change, looking out of the window no sinister beings lurked in the shadows, no music lured me into woodland. It had been nothing but a dream.

Or so I thought. You see 500 years later I still look in the mirror every morning and my reflection remains the same... But I'm tired now, won't you come and see me in the woods my pretty?

Come join the Halloween party over at A Fanciful Twist if you dare... where hundreds of revellers will spin tales, weave magic and scare you witless!

All photographs and artwork by me - with a little magic applied here and there...

If you liked what you saw and fancy voting for me as blog of the month for Dorset Cereals, you can click on the egg cup in the sidebar and cast your vote... If not, there's some very nice blogs to visit there anyway!

The Hatter's invitation

Alice sat quietly at the back of her shop watching the cinnamon dust motes float idly in the heat of the afternoon. Trade was slow at this time of day as those that thronged her store in the cool of the mornings took to the shade to rest when the sun was at its fiercest. She too closed her eyes and relaxed against the pastel cushions that matched so perfectly the hue of her cup cakes and fancies. She smiled as she felt the magic begin to stir around her, knowing that to give it strength she should empty her mind of irritating thought and just believe...

As the temperature cooled around her and the whispered stories of generations weaved their way into her mind, Alice began to grin. She knew exactly where the magic would take her this afternoon. She reached out instinctively and grabbed her basket from its spot by the door as both the chair and Alice sped off on an afternoon of adventure...

***

The Hatter had grown tired of tea parties. His guests would insist on the same old sandwiches and cakes. How he longed for something a little different. Well, today he smirked would be different as he had sent out invitations on the wind of change and, as everyone knows, that's the premium mail service for magic. The Dormouse and White Rabbit pondered how he could afford it, since he claimed to have no coins left to repair the hole in his top hat, but the question didn't perplex them long... They were far too excited to see who would answer.

The White Rabbit checked his watch for the hundredth time and sighed. One minute past four and the same old cast of characters. The March Hare was already annoying him and the Dormouse was of course asleep. It looked like nothing would break the monotony of this perpetual tea party...

***

Meanwhile, Alice clung to her chair in glee as it flew across the clouds, her long hair flowing behind her like a ship in full sail on the ocean. She turned to view her wake and waved at those that followed - a crazy procession of artists and writers, crafters and creators led a full blown riot of imagination. It was truly a site to behold. Baskets overflowed with sweets and pastries, cupcakes, teacakes, chocolate, carrot and fruit cakes... Jugs of lemonade fizzed with delight with their bubbles all popping in the excitement.

"Not long now" Alice called as the crazy procession began its descent through the clouds. The patchwork fields grew closer and sunflowers waved a cheery greeting as the flying chairs and their occupants (not forgetting the baskets and their sumptuous contents) dropped one by one into the garden and found themselves seated at a very large table presided over by a startled looking fellow in a top hat with a hole in (from which peeked a sleepy looking dormouse).

"You came" he squealed, "You came. I always knew this tea party would begin on a Fanciful Twist."

****************

You can join the party too - just close your eyes and believe... or, if that doesn't work, come visit Vanessa and the partygoers at A Fanciful Twist for the blog party of the summer.

Eye candy: First pic of Alice in her shop created digitally from a selection of magazine pictures. Cupcakes from a magazine (Vogue) and overlaid with my artwork from... Journal page of Alice's adventures. Layer upon layer of collage and paint weaving into Alice's story. Alice sketched on top in graphite and coloured pencil. Look carefully and you might just spot the dormouse. Mad Hatter painting by me (done a few months ago) and overlaid on a spread from a cricket tea in Country Living.

A farciful Halloween

Halloween is but a spooky week away. Today I party with hundreds of others with a Fanciful Twist. All are invited to join the festivites. Do come along, but beware the ghosts and ghouls...

Peeking between the pumpkins Willy, the naughty imp stretched his aching arms. It had been a restful 100 year sleep since his last Halloween and now he was bursting with mishievous energy. He scratched a long (and slightly grubby) fingernail down the sweet flesh of the mountain of fruit beside him and sucked it up thoughtfully.

What vexing behaviour to try first...? Memories of mischief flooded his tiny mind and he couldn't help but giggle delightedly. Cocking a very pointy ear he paused in his merriment and listened carefully. Carried to him on the playful autumn breeze was a tinkling music laced with laughter and excited chatter. It could only mean one thing - a party! Needing no further invitation he scampered off following the sounds and scents of the festivities.

Our elfin friend (for although a touch on the bad side, is actually a hero of this tale) stood transfixed at the scene laid out before him. Flickering light from a bonfire illuminated a ghoulish spectacle. Witches, warlocks, blood-sucking vampires and werewolves ran amok chasing ghostly figures that didn't so much as float but more tramped across the damp grass leaving a crushed trail.

Willy flittered seemingly un-noticed among the throng, though his presence was surely felt as he carefully unravelled a gossamer spider string donated by a kindly garden friend. Noses twitched and hands flicked to sweep away the tickling mesh. He clambered into a barrel of apples intent on a bite of some more fruity supper but nearly received a soaking as they were tipped into a bucket of icy water. "Humans" he fumed, as he headed off... This kind of fun was for the people hatchlings, he had the sounds of another fiesta in his tiny ear... one unheard by unsuspecting children and not for their delicate stomachs either!

***
Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble, round and round the cauldron swirled the spell, spitting and spattering those that stirred with dark brown stains.

Mildred, Meggie and Millicent picked at their warts and shook their dandruff into the poisonous mixture. What a party it would prove to be... this would teach those vile vampires not to invite them to the festivities...

***

Viktor asked Wulfie for the hundredth time that evening if his make up looked OK; he hated not being the palest at the party. It was very tiresome being a vain vampire sometimes. He envied the humans their looking glasses. "Mind you," he mused looking down his imperious nose at the matted and mangy hair of his companion, "...sometimes it could be a blessing". Viktor lifted his collar and ran his tongue over his fine sharp teeth. "Come along then mutt" he ordered and the two headed off to the castle ruins, just as they had done every October for the last 500 years. Viktor smiled remembering their first party which had caused the castle to fall into its current state of dishevelment. The Duke of Barnborough had not been best pleased - he complained that Viktor and his cronies would suck him dry... so that is exactly what they did! Foolish human.

They arrived to the usual mayhem as witches fought for first taste of the blood punch and lurkers hung around the edge of the dance floor trying to catch the eyes of fair maidens. Viktor had tried to ban the practice years ago, but Mudwen and his cronies would always turn up with a bag of them


The evil vampire floated theatrically to the top of the crumbling battlements and began his traditional party-opening speech. As the years had gone by he'd noticed less attention paid to him and more to the festering banquet; but this year that would all change. It was time he was once more accorded the due respect deserved to his (self-titled) role of Lord of the Underworld. He fingered the tiny vial concealed in his cloak and felt the heat from the potion within. This would knock the snivelling rabble down to size... Wulfie let out a wild howl and finally a semblence of silence descended on the gathered throng.

***

Meanwhile, Willy, hell-bent on causing mayhem was observing the three mad witches with interest. They appeared to be bottling some kind of party brew. Willy was mightily thirsty and enjoyed a drink as much as the next imp - particularly one with bubbles in a glass bottle. A whole row of the stuff was left balanced precariously on Mildred's broom as the hags went in their hovel to rip their dresses and scratch open a few scabs in preparation for a girls' night out. Willy crept silently toward the elixir with his gossamer spider's trail still dragging behind him.

What Willy didn't realise though was that things had changed since his last Halloween. Human hatchlings were far more street-wise and savvy these days. Tickling threads of sparkling spider web disappearing into the distance were interesting trails to be followed, particularly when there appeared to be a very small and ugly little creature at the head of them. 13 pairs of eyes also fancied a drop of some sparkling brown stuff and they also had to check out what special effect was making that broom float...

Mayhem would no doubt have ensued had Mildred, Meggie and Millicent returned outside to collect their brew. Regrettably, Meggie had mistakenly complimented Millicent's worst gown and the enraged witch had clumsily cast a spell in a confined space that had a 'strictly for outdoor use' label and the three of them were now balancing precariously at the top of a Baobab tree on the fringes of the Kalahari desert. Millicent, the only one carrying a wand at the time, had dropped said article on the head of a sleeping lion. He was now chewing it thoughtfully while he considered which witch would make his starter, main course and dessert.

Instead, the vile brew intended to cause a stir at Viktor's party was being quaffed by 13 children and one over-excited imp who had suddenly gained a whole gang of miscreants to join in his fun. As the potion began to work its magic on the assembled throng Willy, who the small humans kept mysteriously calling Dobby, led his crew to a 'special party'. (As you may have gathered, and will see more proof of, the hapless witches hadn't done very well in their spell-making GCSEs).

Viktor's lengthy speech was drawing to a climax to the relief of the assembled mob. They felt it only right that he should be allowed his final moment... before they toppled him from his lofty perch and ripped him limb from limb.

Viktor's thumb carefully eased the cork from the vial...

The mob, as one, began to murmer and chant a spell-binding incantation...

13 children fuelled by a 'near-enough' imitation of coca-cola, but with rather a lot of extra caffeine, hotly pursued by an imp called Dobby, or was it Willy?... charged into the castle alive with raucous laughter making enough noise to wake the dead (had they not already been awake and standing in front of them).

Viktor nearly fell from his battlements in shock. Regrettably the liquid he had intended for the mysteriously chanting crowd below leapt from its container drenching him.... He started shrinking...

The mob's chanting ended abruptly at the mysterious interuption. But everyone knows that stopping half way through a task of such gravitas is deadly. The children's laughter and excited chatter finished the spell... Their glee increased at the wonderful show the house elf Dobby was putting on for them. Over-inflated witches whizzed past their heads like popped ballooons, werewolves started resemebling guinea pigs and vampires ran amok trying to collect their teeth which were dropping from their jaws like showers of rain.

Dragging themselves home later, pockets full of vampire teeth and new pet guinea pigs, they all agreed it was the best Halloween ever.

Willy tip-toed back to his hole in the wall as quietly and unobtrusively as he could. His mischief for the night was done and he thought it best to keep a low profile for another hundred years or so.

Viktor, dishevelled and tired, crawled back into his coffin, now 50 sizes too big, snuggled up to a very large teddy and cried himself to sleep... The modern world was really no place for a vampire...